Fighting the Dark
by Penned-By-Lynn
Summary: Draco's world has been changed forever. Now blind, will he be able to cope with the direction his life has taken? Who will be there to guide him out of the darkness he now faces?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: My original plan was to post a couple additional scenes to this story but after a very helpful suggestion from Ameiko, I have decided to re-work this story and really try to flesh it out more. If you read the first version, this will follow the same basic story line but there's going to be enough new content that I think it would be worthwhile to re-read.**

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{November 23rd, 2001}

Draco Malfoy was rarely anxious. Intimidated? Occasionally. Frightened? Every so often. But anxious? Hardly ever. It was only in the past several months that the emotion had begun to surface at all.

Malfoys don't get nervous. It's not that they mask it, as they do with nearly every other emotion. It just never makes an appearance, so it's not something they needed to hide. It's not that Malfoys didn't get scared. They did. Bravery was not a trait associated with the family name. The reason had more to do with the fact that many of them were puffed too full of false confidence. Power has a way of over-inflating egos, of erasing any need for anxiety. Power means you are in control. There's no reason to be nervous if you believe you know the outcome.

But as Draco sat scratching his arm, anxiety was the only emotion coursing through him. Had he been more introspective, he might have noticed the traces of desperate hope and dread that lingered as well. Draco had spent enough time examining his life and his choices; there was no time for that today.

"You have to stop. You're going to draw blood again like last time." The words were spoken softly but they carried enough weight to make Draco listen. He scowled but knew she was right. Of course she was right. He even knew that she was just as anxious as he was, although a fraction more hopeful. He knew her better than anyone. Yet, now was not the time to dwell on this fact either.

That time would likely come in an hour or two, when he inevitably returned home, once again alone and dejected. She knew better than to try to talk to him under those circumstances. Of course she knew what he would be feeling. She knew him better than anyone.

Draco's nervous energy was now finding its way out through his feet. The accelerated tapping of his shoe filled the small and otherwise silent room. Silent, that is, for everyone other than Draco.

He was all too aware of the scraping of teeth against fingernails, of the shallow breathing beside him, of the very buzz of magic in the air. The tapping seemed to be a better idea than the scratching; one loud noise to focus on was better than the various quieter sounds that were constantly drawing his attention.

It hadn't always been this way. A year and a half ago, Draco wouldn't have noticed a thing. A year and a half ago, the noises competing for attention were the shouts of wizards and witches and spells whizzing across open fields and cramped corridors. A year and a half ago, he could still see.

Nobody had noticed the spell being cast. Nobody heard the words that changed Draco Malfoy's life. And nobody else saw the beam of purple light that had been headed straight for Hermione Granger.

It was a twisted stroke of fate that had caused Draco to turn and pay attention at that very moment. Afterwards, he was constantly harassed by the same question: Why?

It came from the other aurors, from Hermione, from his mother, from the few friends he had managed to keep. It even came from himself.

Why did he feel compelled to throw Hermione out of the way? Why did he act like a bloody Gryffindor? Why did he act on this new instinct instead of sticking to the self-preservation that had been drilled into him since birth? It was a constant fixation for months which turned into a late night obsession which eventually ceased to matter. The reason was no longer important to him.

The fact was that he had saved her.

It was done.

Finished.

Despite the hell of those first few months, he knows he wouldn't have changed his actions if given a second chance. Maybe he would have tried to block the spell with something other than his face. Maybe an arm or a leg or even the back of his head would have been better options. Maybe they would have been far worse.

Honestly, it was a bit surprising he remained unscathed for as long as he did. There were countless others who hadn't been so lucky. The Battle at Hogwarts had rendered the most casualties , but the two following years were not without stain.

Although Voldemort had been defeated, there was still the matter of rounding up the remaining Death Eaters. The ones who hadn't been killed or defeated during the final battle had immediately gone into hiding. With virtually no knowledge or clues as to their whereabouts, the Ministry was at a loss.

That's where Draco came in.

His father now in Azkaban, Draco had taken over as the head of the Malfoy household. Narcissa had been cleared for assisting Harry and since Draco had still been an underage wizard when he took the mark, he was also cleared. Unlike his mother though, he was let off with a warning. He had one year to "benefit wizarding society," whatever that meant, or face the possibility of an Azkaban sentence.

He made donation after donation at his mother's insistence, trying to both fulfill his obligation as well as bring the family name back to the elevated and respected level it once held. Nothing worked.

Eventually he heard of the failed attempts to capture the remaining Death Eaters. Although it took a bitter, bitter blow to his pride and resulted in more than a few nights of self-loathing, he applied for a position as an auror. He was accepted and transferred to a new department created specifically to deal with the Death Eater problem.

His co-workers, including know-it-all Hermione Granger, were cold and distant. His supervisors were distrustful and threw him most of the grunt work. The few pureblood families that had remained amiable immediately following the war quickly disappeared.

And yet, Draco was… pleased. Oddly enough, he found that he liked the strategic planning and the rigorous training. He felt accomplished and rewarded for the first time in his life. Not that he admitted that to anyone.

He worked hard for nearly two years and he was proud. Because he knew of several secret Death Eater safe houses, he even orchestrated a few raids. Including his last.

It was supposed to be the department's final raid. Dolohov, who had narrowly survived a duel with Flitwick at Hogwarts, was the last Death Eater at large. The planning had gone without a hitch. The execution, however, had not.

It was an ambush.

Dolohov had apparently made some new friends in Germany and the aurors were completely outnumbered. It was pure chaos. Spells were flying everywhere and in the one, solitary moment of clarity that Draco had, he saw a spell being cast at Hermione Granger. And that's when everything went black.

Draco shook his head. He'd spent too much time mulling over what ifs and he was frantically trying to avoid them now. They were there, though, lurking at the edges of his mind. What if this treatment didn't work? What if he'd put himself through all this just to be disappointed again? It's not as if these were crazy questions. They were, unfortunately, all too legitimate.

The truth of the matter was that this was Draco's seventh treatment attempt in a year and a half. All of them were spearheaded by none other than Hermione herself. It started out, Draco was convinced, as a way to repay her debt, as a way to make up for not being able to answer why. After all, if Hermione didn't have the answer, who would?

As soon as Draco's diagnosis was confirmed, she was off to the library. She threw herself into researching anything and everything she could find on the subject. She interviewed his healers and reviewed any information they had. She also avoided Draco as much as possible. What do you say to someone who could have lost his life saving yours? In many ways, Draco had felt that was already the case. After all, who had heard of a blind wizard? It was a joke. Everything he knew had been stripped away.

Continuing as an auror was obviously out. Instead of a leader, he'd be nothing more than a casualty if he went on a raid now. He'd be completely unable to protect himself, let alone actually fight anyone. Gods, that was a pathetic image: Draco shooting spells with no ability to aim at or even discern a target.

And then there was the matter of his entire lifestyle. Nearly all magic required sight. He couldn't transfigure an item if he couldn't point his wand at it. He couldn't levitate anything without the ability to see where the object was located. Hell, he couldn't even play quidditch any longer! What good is a seeker that has no way of locating the snitch?

He'd felt useless, completely and utterly useless. He'd had every ounce of independence stripped away from him. He wouldn't be able to get anywhere unaccompanied. He'd probably never be able to live on his own. He would always be chained to someone else, needing a guide or some other form of assistance.

He had no idea how to get dressed in the dark. He'd have to have his clothing picked out for him, like a sodding two year old. He was going to have to relearn how to shower and get ready for the day, all without the benefit of knowing the end product.

As if he hadn't sunk low enough in the wizarding community. Any advancement that Draco had made by becoming an auror was yanked from him grasp. Nobody would take him seriously anymore. They'd be too overwhelmed by either pity or satisfaction at his condition. He'd already seen – correction: heard – it from the few people that had bothered to visit. He was nothing more than a cripple to them now. He'd be a burden to some and the rest would simply be glad not to deal with him anymore.

With the exception of his mother's frequent visits and Blaise's occasional ones, Hermione Granger was the only constant in his life. And it was not exactly a welcome constant. She was either an inquisitive little bugger or a delusional optimist: he never knew which one he was going to get.

Even before the incident, Draco & Hermione's relationship had been somewhat civil on the best of days. While there were no screaming matches, there were heated looks and cold shoulders. A strong resentment seemed to linger from their school days. They had never gotten along and they had accepted that they never would.

Truth be told, Draco found the whole situation rather amusing. He'd bait her and she would do her best to appear unaffected. Draco's life may not have been according to plan, but this was normal. Perhaps it wasn't mature, but it was normal.

It was an odd little routine they had established but there was a sort of familiarity in it. Ever since Draco's injury, however, that routine had been shattered.

She was suddenly in much closer proximity than usual and she tended to hang around longer. Now, if he hadn't been suffering through what he might later label as depression, he would have seized this opportunity to try out all sorts of new jabs. As it was though, he was feeling rather lackluster.

The few times that he had tried to insult or taunt her, she had zero reaction. The only indication that she had even heard his pathetic attempts was the increase in the speed of her quill across the parchment. Once, he'd even heard her muttering about "thinning patience" and "necessary lashing out."

The only topics they bothered to discuss were about Draco's condition. She'd ask lengthy, academic questions and he would answer in as few words as possible. That was the extent of their interactions until Hermione had decided to breach the gap.

Her first thank you attempt had failed. Draco had pretended to be asleep. He felt she kind of deserved it for just bursting in and spitting it out, without any warning or precursor. He heard the whole thing and before the injury, he probably would have responded. But what do you say to someone who escaped without a scratch while your entire world came crashing down?

He spent days trying to come up with the answer and was prepared to give it when she thanked him the second time, but he never got the chance.

_{July 3rd, 2000}_

_The door to Draco's right burst open. Although it was pointless, he turned his head in the direction of the noise, his eyes remaining tightly shut. Hermione's determined footsteps stomped across the room, stopping only when she reached his bed._

_The next thing he knew, his blankets were ripped off and his pillow was yanked from beneath his head._

"_What in the hell do you think –" he started._

"_Get out of bed," came the command._

_Draco scoffed at her feeble attempt. It would take a lot more than that to get Draco Malfoy to obey Hermione Granger. Honestly, she was supposed to be the smart one?_

"_I'm not joking, Malfoy. You are going to get out of that bed and you are going to quit skulking around. You have been here three weeks and I haven't seen you move from that same position. It's pathetic."_

"_Pathetic?" growled Draco. "What exactly would you prefer that I do? Take a lap around the room so that I can fall flat on my face? I'm sure you'd love to see that. I hate to disappoint you Granger but I refuse."_

"_I don't care what you do as long as it's something! This is ridiculous. You're not the only person to ever suffer spell damage. There's no reason why you can't live –"_

"_A full and happy life. Get some new material, will you? I've heard all this bullshit before. But while we're on the subject, have you ever heard of a blind wizard? How many of them are gallivanting around with full and happy lives?" Draco would never admit it but this felt good. It was familiar territory, arguing with Granger. He felt more alive than he had in weeks._

_She stayed silent for a minute, no doubt trying to come up with some lame anecdote. "There are plenty of blind people who are independent. They leave their houses, they contribute to society, they –"_

"_Muggles! They are muggles! Look I may not be the same bigoted arse that I was at Hogwarts but do not dare place me in the same category with them. Besides, you just admitted defeat. By comparing my situation to a muggle you concede that being a blind wizard is an oxymoron. It's not possible."_

_She let a noise that was something between a grunt and a squeal. He hadn't heard her foot stomp but he could very well imagine her doing so in his head. She was so predictable._

"_Listen here, Malfoy. I've had enough of your self-pitying nonsense. You could choose to adapt to your new life, to learn a different method of doing things. But instead, you lie in this bed and you brood about the injustice of your situation. I've seen people in far worse situations than yours. People get hurt every day and I could very well be helping them. Yet here I am, standing by your bedside, holding a potential cure that you don't even deserve."_

"_What did you say?" he whispered. He must have heard her wrong. Nobody had been able to figure out what curse he'd been struck with, let alone attempted to find a reversal. It simply wasn't possible._

"_You heard me. I think I may have found a cure. But I absolutely refuse to help someone who doesn't even attempt to help himself. I've known you to be many things but I never thought you were a quitter. You can moan all you like but your life is not over. You're not even twenty, for Merlin's sake! There's a lot of work left to be done and there's a lot more of this world for you to experience. Now, what are you going to do about it?"_

Thus began a cycle which had since been repeated six times. If Hermione's research was stage one, putting the plan into action was stage two. It involved contacting experts and conducting experiments of her own. The truth was that she was in the dark almost as much as he was. While his was literal and all encompassing, hers was theoretical but just as oppressive. She had no idea what curse had been cast, no clue as to what could change Draco's fate. Hermione, however, had never backed down from a challenge and she certainly wasn't about to start.

Each treatment attempt had ended in failure and Draco was nervous that today's appointment would yield the same results.

It wasn't that Draco needed a favorable outcome, per say. Truth be told, he was rather proud of what he'd come to accomplish in the past year and a half. During the ten months that he was stuck in St. Mungo's, he'd gone through a rehabilitation program of sorts. Hermione's words had eventually clicked. He couldn't just lie around forever, feeling sorry for himself. If he was essentially going to re-learn how to live his life, he had a lot of work to do.

The main issue was that there was zero precedent for this in the wizarding world. Magic was so often able to heal any sort of ailment that there had never been a real need for this sort of program to be established. Hermione had offered to conduct more research to assist him but Draco had strongly refused. There was no way he was going to have a member of the beloved "Golden Trio" watch as he fumbled along.

He'd insisted that he be taught by a professional, someone trained. And preferably someone who wouldn't take pleasure in seeing Draco Malfoy knocked down a few notches. After presenting a compelling case to the Ministry, and using a bit of her influence from her role in the war, Hermione was able to bring someone in. It wasn't until months later that Draco found out that Mr. Belter used to work at a muggle rehabilitation center for the blind. That meant Hermione had managed to convince the Ministry to breach the Statute of Secrecy for this; she was far more persuasive than Draco had given her credit for.

He'd worked with Mr. Belter nearly every day and he managed to regain most of his independence. Later, after he had been released from St. Mungo's, Hermione had worked with him on ways for him to use his magic. He'd worked hard and the dedication had certainly paid off. So Draco wasn't lying when he said he didn't "need" the results to be positive. But did he long for them to be?

Absolutely.

Maybe it sounded like taking the easy way out but what was so wrong about wanting his old life back? Could anyone really blame him for wanting to stare once more at a sunset or a starry night sky or the face of the woman he loved? These were the images that filled his dreams each night; he yearned to see them again with his own two eyes.

Before he could dwell on his convoluted thoughts for a second longer, the door creaked open.

"Mr. Malfoy, this way please," said the doctor. Draco drew a shaky breath and reached down to grab his cane. He felt Hermione's soothing hand on his back as he made his way towards the sound of the doctor's voice. Draco suddenly found himself wishing for more time. There would be no way to un-hear the verdict, no way to stop the small ounce of hope from being extinguished. Anxious as he was, Hermione had been right all those months ago: he was not a quitter.

Making his way into what felt like a modest office, he sat down on a bench with Hermione close to his side. He grabbed for her hand, ashamed of the way his was trembling. She made no mention of it; instead bringing her other hand over to rub reassuring circles on the back of his shaky hand.

There was no way to summarize the drastic turn their relationship had taken. Most days, he still didn't believe this was real, that their journey from childhood enemies to co-workers to acquaintances to companions to lovers had actually happened. But at this moment, those doubts didn't matter. What mattered was the obstacle directly in front of them. Whatever the news was, they would face it side by side. Together.

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**A/N: Feedback would really be appreciated! I'd love to know what you guys think, whether you read the old version or are checking this story out for the first time.**

**Also, a big thank you to Ameiko for taking the time to give me advice and encouragement! And if you're not already reading Stories Of Us, then get on it! Even if you're not into The Hunger Games, that story is definitely well worth the read.**


	2. Chapter 2

{November 23rd, 2001}

Draco should have known better. He should have listened to his gut instead of daring to hope. He felt like a bloody idiot. He shouldn't have been upset or surprised at today's results. And yet, here he was, devastated.

Was it too much to ask to be able to see the face of the woman he loved? Merlin, how he wished it. He tried to bring up his memories but the images were fading. Her features were less defined, her shape blurred around the edges. It was a false figure, even when it had been fully formed. The face he imagined was never one he had looked at with affection. It was tainted from years of schoolboy bitterness and annoyance. Try as he might, he couldn't get the image to fit with the woman he now knew.

What he saw was a tangled mess of hair, wildly out of control. What he felt was soft, inviting waves. It had become a habit, a comfort, to run his fingers through her hair as they sat side by side. She would pull out yet another DVD and he would complain about her horrid taste in stories, for that's all they were to Draco. She'd get the telly set up and plop down next to him on the couch, where his fingers would inevitably find their way to her hair. Although he'd never seen a movie, he had to admit that it was the one muggle invention that fascinated him.

He used to make the house elves read him bedtime stories as a child but this was different. Marnie, his personal favorite, would attempt to give each character a different voice but it was nothing like these movies. Each character actually had a different person voicing them, with tones far more expressive than Marnie could have dreamed of. Combined with all kinds of sound effects and perfectly suited background music, Draco was sucked in every single time. Hermione had described watching a movie to be like looking through a pensieve, which Draco supposed made sense.

What he saw in his head was the face of a young girl, not stunning, but attractive at times. What he heard was the voice of a woman that he could never deserve. He heard her affection whenever she spoke of times they had shared together. He heard her frustration and grief when a treatment failed. He heard her nervousness when she spoke of the future, as if she was unsure he felt the same as she did.

Precious as those scattered pictures now were, they didn't seem like her. They weren't the woman he'd come to know. They weren't his Hermione. Yet, he clung to them. He meticulously tried to preserve them as best as he possibly could. He was terrified of waking up one day and no longer being able to bring her face to mind.

Fate had never been kind to Draco Malfoy, but this was perhaps its most ruthless trick. He'd long ago accepted that his life wasn't fair. He had the scars and the vile tattoo to prove it. But to finally fall in love and be denied the pleasure of looking into her eyes… it was torture. That's the reason he had dared to hope for good news today; desperation had driven him to grasp at any slight possibility.

Apparently it wasn't meant to be.

That simple fact stung. Badly.

He knew that he had reached a crossroads today. This could not continue; he could not keep letting hope grow only to have it crushed further down with each attempt. He had never considered himself a particularly emotional creature, but this was wreaking havoc on him. He felt every ounce of the anguished journey and he simply could not take another step.

He would have to talk to her tomorrow, a conversation he was absolutely dreading. With her talks of perseverance and optimism, she would try to convince him otherwise. He'd mentioned it once or twice before. He always brought it up casually, in passing. She was frantic at the mere mention. It had taken Draco an hour to talk her down, to get her to stop the incessant rambling.

Her attempts at research had once seemed a frenzied attempt to fix a situation she had inadvertently created. Now, however, he sensed her reasoning had shifted. There was something in the meticulous approach she currently maintained, something that echoed with extra care. There was something that told Draco she continued because she loved him.

Hermione Granger loved Draco Malfoy and he loved her back. It was the unlikeliest of pairings, yet given the new direction their lives had taken, it made perfect sense. Logistically, at least. While so many other areas of Draco's life had fallen apart, this had fallen into place.

The whole situation had snuck up on him, it really had.

_{October 17__th__, 2000}_

_There he was one day, sitting in bed, relaxing after a particularly long session with Mr. Belter. His fingers were exploring a new tool he'd been given to assist him in learning Braille. It was a set of 6 blocks, with each face of each block representing a different letter of the alphabet or a digit. For instance, he was starting at the beginning, with the block containing letters A-F. His index finger drifted to the Braille cell located in the bottom corner. It contained two dots diagonal from each other. _

_He racked his brain, trying to remember which letter that represented. It was there, lingering just out of grasp like so many other pieces of his life. He gave up shortly and moved his finger to the center of the block, where the written letter was indented. He traced a long vertical line with three shorter horizontal lines sticking out to the right. _

"_Of course," he said aloud, sighing in frustration. He'd studied that sodding chart that Granger gave him for hours. He should have been able to recognize the letter E for Merlin's sake. _

_Speaking of Granger, were was she? She usually popped right through the door as soon Mr. Belter left at 3:00. She should be here. Then he could make snide remarks about how this was all her fault. Which wasn't an entirely untruthful accusation. Honestly, who throws someone a list of letters and expects him to teach himself to read all over again? _

_She should be here. Then he could rant and rave all he liked. No matter what terrible things he said, she stayed. It was an odd thing to realize, that it didn't matter whether he insulted her, complained about his situation, or was just plain miserable to be around; she wasn't going to leave._

_Even stranger was the realization that he didn't want her to. _

Their relationship had just sort of developed from that moment on. He began noticing all these little things about her. Like how she wore shoes that, based on their consistent clacking across the hospital floor, all sounded exactly the same. Or how she stayed in a good mood for exactly three days after she found a breakthrough on her research. Or how she tried to sound casual while asking about his daily sessions with Mr. Belter, even though the slight tremor in her voice always gave her away.

In particular, he noticed how genuinely excited she always sounded whenever he mentioned a new accomplishment. Though he was reluctant to admit it, those affirmations meant more to him than she could ever know. He'd felt immeasurably better since he'd begun trying to regain his independence. True, he was nowhere near where he wanted to be. And in the grand scheme of things, walking across a room without tripping over anything was a rather tiny accomplishment. But it meant a lot to him. And it certainly meant a lot more to know that she was proud of him.

Merlin, how long had it been since someone had been proud of him? There was an odd sense of confidence that accompanied it. He discovered that he wanted to push himself harder, not just for himself but for her. To prove to her that she hadn't misplaced her face in him.

He still remembered their first "date," though it probably wasn't by most people's standards. He'd been at St. Mungo's for 5 months. He and Granger – well, Hermione, now; he still didn't know when exactly that had happened – had been almost friendly towards each other for the past few days.

_{November 5__th__, 2000}_

_Draco sat in the stiff plastic chair and wiped his sweaty palms against his robes. He kept telling himself that there was no reason to be nervous. It was just Hermione, after all. They'd been around each other every day for the past five months. This was just the same as any other afternoon. Right?_

_The door to his room flew open. "Sorry I'm late. Crookshanks completely destroyed… what's all this?" she asked._

"_I thought we could have tea today, if you'd like. I know you've probably missed it, what with being cooped up in this room every afternoon." Draco tried to smile but it felt more like a grimace. This wasn't exactly an area that he had expertise in._

_This was probably a stupid idea. He didn't know what he'd been thinking when he asked Mr. Belter to help him arrange a proper tea set on a table in the middle of his room. At the time, it had made so much sense. It would be a nice little surprise for Hermione and he could show her that he was still capable of simple tasks like afternoon tea. _

_But he was beginning to realize the situation for what it really was: a potential disaster. What if she took her tea earlier in the afternoon? What if he knocked over the centerpiece of cakes and pastries? What if he made a fool out of himself and spilled while he was trying to pour her tea?_

_This was definitely a stupid idea._

"_That's a wonderful idea!" she exclaimed. The excitement in her voice permeated the room and helped to ease Draco's nerves. Maybe this would be alright after all. He rose from his chair. Keeping one hand on the edge of the table, just as Mr. Belter had advised him, he walked to the opposite side of the table and pulled out Hermione's chair."Such a gentleman today," she teased as he pushed her chair back in._

"_I'm always a gentleman," he replied. "It's just that I also happen to be an arse a good majority of the time."_

_She laughed at that. Not a mild giggle or a forced chuckle. It was deep, from her gut, as if she hadn't laughed in so long that all this energy had pent up inside of her. "Well, I'm afraid I can't disagree with you there."_

"_My, how kind of you," he drawled. He cleared his throat and spoke again, "Can I serve you tea?"_

"_Sure," she answered, clearly a little surprised._

_Keeping his hand down, he slid it along until he felt the teapot towards the center of the table. He picked it up by the handle and used his other hand to find Hermione's teacup. Keeping his hand on the cup for reference, he began to pour very slowly. Choosing to err on the side of caution, he stopped when the teacup sounded about halfway full. _

"_How do you take it?"_

"_A bit of cream and two lumps of sugar but you don't need to –"_

"_No, I can do it," he interrupted. He returned the teapot to its place it and once again felt along the table, this time searching for a small bowl. He found it and, with his other hand still on her teacup, he used the pinchers to locate two cubes of sugar and gently drop them in the cup. He'd made sure there was plenty of sugar in the bowl so he wouldn't have to worry about trying to find the individual cubes. _

_He located the cream in the same manner he'd been using and picked it up. "Just tell me when," he told her, and begun to pour the cream into her teacup. She stopped him after about a second and a half. He returned the cream to the table and filed the information away for future reference._

_He walked back to his side of the table and listened to the sounds of her spoon gently clinking against the sides of her cup. He prepared his own tea in the same fashion, although opting to forego the cream. _

"_Draco," Hermione hedged. "I know you're usually adverse to receiving compliments in regards to how you're handling your condition but you're just going to have to hear me out on this one. You served afternoon tea – and a damn good cup of it, if I might add – as if you've been doing it this way your whole life. There was no hesitation and no mistakes; you seem perfectly at ease. And I just wanted to say that I'm impressed."_

"_Merlin, woman, it's only tea," he muttered, slightly embarrassed. Truth be told though, he couldn't have been more glad to hear those words. He'd managed to convince Mr. Belter to spend nearly an entire day on helping him in this area and it was a relief to know his practice hadn't been wasted. "I just figured that you deserved something for being stuck here with me every day."_

_It was silent for a moment before she spoke. "Honestly? There isn't any place else I'd rather be."_

Draco shook his head, smirking at the memory. Nine words. That was all it had taken to stir up feelings that he'd long ago forgot he was capable of.

He doubted, though. He didn't doubt her forgiveness, which was finally granted after a few weeks of stuttered apologies. He didn't doubt her dedication; Hermione was nothing if not loyal. He didn't even doubt her affection. She must have cared for him or else she would have quit long ago. Anyone else in their right mind would have. Love however…

It's not that she'd ever given him a specific reason to doubt. Through all the fights and the arguments, there was never anything he could pinpoint to prove his suspicions. But how could she love him? He was a wreck, a shadow of the man she deserved.

It was a constant war deep within him: the gnawing notion that he wasn't good enough combating years of ingrained Malfoy superiority. He had been raised to believe that he was superior, but how could he ever be worthy of anyone's love? The cruel words he'd spoken, the acts he'd committed: they were enough to send most people running. Combine that with the guilt that constantly plagued him and the voice that told him he could never erase what his family had done. And oh yes, let's not forget his disability.

He could take care of himself, sure. He'd lived on his own, with a house elf, naturally, for 3 months and it was going fairly well all things considered. Leaving the Manor had been one of the best decisions he'd ever made. It brought back another slice of his independence that he'd been longing for so badly. He'd had enough of his mother babying him. He knew she was just trying to care for her son but it felt like she had no faith in him. It was as if she tried to do everything because she no longer thought that he could.

The battle for self-reliance had been a grueling endeavor and while he still didn't feel that he'd won, he finally felt like a contender. He'd learned to get around his flat and maneuver the outside world. While it wasn't necessarily as easy as it had been before, he could still get where he needed unassisted. He used his cane to ensure that no objects were blocking his path and to determine if he was approaching stairs or a curb. He also relied on other subtle clues from his environment: the sound of a closed door helped orient him while the direction of a breeze helped him determine the size and arrangement of an open area. It wasn't often that he ventured new places alone, mainly because there was no need, but the fact remained that he could handle himself if he needed to.

As far as shopping was concerned, he went as much as he always had: as little as necessary. While he prided himself on looking put-together, he had never been able to stomach shopping for very long. Plus, he had always worn the same style of robes and found no reason to change that habit now. Occasionally he would wander into a clothing store to have the tailor check his measurements, but mainly he just ordered the items he needed by owl. Since he'd always worn dark colors, he didn't need to worry about clashing or picking some bright horrid monstrosity.

Each new addition to his wardrobe was immediately labeled in Braille and placed in his closet. If he ordered more than one item at a time, he enlisted Hermione's organizational prowess but he usually accomplished the task on his own.

Every day, he woke up, showered, got dressed, fixed his hair, ate breakfast, and left for work, just like he always used to. Only instead of waking up because the sun was flooding his room, he placed a charm on his Braille watch to announce the time he needed to get up. Rather than fixing his hair in the mirror, he relied on his sense of touch: patting down any unruly hairs, judging if the right amount of gel was in his palm, feeling his hair to picture how it looked that day. His faithful house elf, Marnie, placed breakfast on his table at 7:30 each morning.

He made coffee using the muggle machine that Hermione had bought for him and sat down to eat, imagining his plate as a large clock. It was a technique he had learned from Mr. Belter. 12 o'clock was the point on the plate farthest away while 6 o'clock was the point closer to him. It was a rather efficient way to maneuver the adventure of eating in the dark. He'd become accustomed to it quite quickly and was able to avoid any spills or embarrassments that may have occurred from him trying to eat as he would have years ago.

He used the floo network to travel to the ministry, where he once again worked in the auror department. Their special segment had since been shut down but when Draco expressed interest in going back to work, the Ministry had assured him that he had a job waiting for him. He mainly stayed in the office, helping strategize various missions or researching potential threats. It had taken a great deal of hard work, but he had now convinced his co-workers to treat him as a colleague rather than the Ministry's new charity case. His talent spoke for itself and while he certainly hadn't won everyone over, he'd been able to gain a satisfactory amount of respect.

At his cubicle as well as at home, he was religiously organized. Each item had a specific place and as long as it was returned, he never had a problem finding anything. Different difficulties presented themselves everyday but he took those in stride.

What he missed were facets of his old life, areas he'd never truly valued until they were gone.

He missed seeing people's expressions when they spoke and reading their body language. He could fill in some of the gap from their tone of voice but he never really knew if he was interpreting reactions and conversations correctly.

He missed scenery and landscape. His childhood holidays had been spent abroad: Greece, Italy, Prague, Paris, Ireland. Locations with sights that took your breath away, sights that he had glanced over without truly seeing.

He missed knowing when someone was going to touch him. It sounded like such a simple thing, yet it was enough to drive him mad. A light touch on the shoulder or a brush of a hand caused him to jump. It was like having someone sneak up on you multiple times a day. He'd thought he would get used to it but he still hadn't. He could hear people approaching but anticipating their actions was nearly impossible. He tried to control his flinching, tried to subdue the rapid increase of his heartbeat. It was useless.

A piercing chime drew Draco out of his reflections. He was confused by the announcement of someone coming through the floo; he hadn't been expecting anyone today.

"Draco?" Hermione's voice rang through his flat.

"I'm in the kitchen," he yelled in response. Strange; she usually left him alone on results days. It was a routine they had worked out long ago. He might have once been aggravated by the break in structure, but today he welcomed the surprise.

"I brought over some ice cream," she said as she walked into the kitchen, bending down to place a quick kiss on Draco's lips. "I noticed you were out when I was over yesterday and I figured you might enjoy some tonight." Her pitch was a little too high; he could feel the anxiousness coming off her in waves.

"Thank you. Could you place it on the –"

"Third shelf to the left of the freezer. I know, Draco." The freezer door creaked open and shut before she pulled out a chair, sitting down at the table next to him. Draco smiled at that; she knew him so well, knew every aspect of his life.

"I'm glad you came over, love. I, um, I wanted to talk to you about something," he said placing his open hand upturned on the kitchen table. Another routine, it was his way of asking her to hold his hand. It helped him avoid the unnecessary and embarrassing groping that used to happen while he was searching for her hand. She took it without hesitating, encouraging him to continue. Taking a deep breath, Draco continued, "I'm not going to try any more treatments or methods. We've been doing this for a year and a half and I think it's time that we put it to rest."

"That's crazy. I know today might have seemed like a setback but it wasn't a total loss. Plus there are a hundred books I've yet to read and loads more brainstorming to do. There's a healer in Russia who has been experimenting with –"

"No, Hermione, stop. I've given this a lot of thought; the plan was to tell you tomorrow. It's just that I can't… I can't continue allowing my emotions to be yanked up and down like a yo-yo. It's been keeping me from doing the one thing I've needed to do for the past eighteen months: accept. Accept the fact my sight won't be returning, at least not in the near future. I think I've been using these possibilities of a cure to put it off all this time. I need to face it; I need to be able to move on."

"You're giving up! Look I know it's been hard for you but we get closer with each rejection. We're ages away from the list of options we started out with. We've narrowed down the prospects considerably since our first attempt. You can't give up when we're so close!"

"But that's just it: it's taken us a year and a half to get this far. Who knows how long it will take to find a real cure? Or if it's even possible to find one? I just… I can't do it anymore. I'm so tired." He turned towards her and tightened his grasp on her hand.

"I know. I know you are but we're going to find it. We are. I promise I will get your sight back, I won't fail you. Let's just keep at it a little longer. Please." Her voice cracked on the last word.

Draco's brow creased at her words. "Fail me? You didn't fail me. You've done far more than I ever could have asked for. What you've accomplished in the last several months has been incredible. You've made tremendous research advancements in numerous medical fields, all while being an auror for Merlin's sake! I'm not telling you that you have to quit everything you've been working on. I know better than to try banning you from the library. I just think you should slow down a little. We both need a break, a new chapter." Hearing the sharp intake of breath, Draco reached up to wipe away the tears that he knew had started to make their way down Hermione's face. He pulled her closer, allowing her to bury her face in his chest. Her muffled sobs filled the kitchen and each one wounded him.

"I j-just want to h-h-help you. I need to help. It's not f-fair." Hermione struggled to get her words out and returned to Draco's chest.

"No, you're right, it isn't. I'm not saying it's easy for me. It's bloody difficult at times. You don't know how badly I wish I could see your face." At this, her sobs increased their tempo and her body shook against his. He pulled back and used his hand to lift her chin. "Can I," he paused, trying to summon the courage to continue. "Can I try something?"

Hermione nodded slowly. Draco hesitated, unsure if this was a good idea. It was something he'd never tried before and he was vaguely… self-conscious. He and Hermione had been together for 11 months and he felt more comfortable around her than he'd ever felt before.

Malfoy Manor wasn't exactly a warm house to grow up in; there was always a certain etiquette to be followed, even around his mother. His friends had all been closer to acquaintances, mainly based on mutual gain. Pure bloods weren't exactly known for their close friendships.

He'd never been able to truly relax. There were so many walls he'd carefully constructed over the course of his childhood. There were obligations and standards that he was required to live up to. Acting vulnerable was practically forbidden. It meant being punished by his father or being taken advantage of by his so-called friends. It meant being weak.

Draco Malfoy was not weak.

But more to the point, he'd never had anyone in his life, aside from his parents, that he knew wouldn't leave. And then Hermione had come along and she'd stayed. Through all his snide remarks, through all his displays of self-doubt, through all his obvious shortcomings, Hermione had stayed. He hadn't realized how desperately he needed that.

So here he was, sitting in front of her, once again laying aside everything he knew. Using both hands, he traced her face with his thumbs. He felt the smooth plate of her forehead, the slight bump on her nose, the defined cheekbones that were still drenched with tears. He pictured her face while doing so and was relieved to find it brought some clarity back to the image.

He'd been nervous to try this but he certainly didn't regret it. He and Hermione had certainly been intimate in other ways but this was on an entirely different plane. This felt more… tender. He was looking at her, on his own terms, in the only way he knew how.

He slowly leaned his forehead forward to rest against hers. The crying had subdued at some point and her breathing was returning to normal. "Okay," she whispered. It was all she trusted herself to say.

"Thank you," Draco whispered back. He lifted her chin once more, this time leaning in for a kiss. He let go of everything and allowed himself to just exist in the moment, to cherish the way her soft lips molded seamlessly to his. He relished the scent of jasmine from her perfume and the musty smell of the old books she spent hours poring over.

He didn't know what their future held. He didn't even know if he had a shot at a future with her, let alone if he deserved her. All he knew was that right now, at this moment, he had everything he needed.

* * *

**A/N:** I've changed how I do the flashbacks because I think giving a date for each one will give you guys a better idea of the timeline since the story tends to switch back and forth. Let me know what you think of the change.

And as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Comments, reviews, suggestions... all are appreciated! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** So sorry for the long wait! Life got a bit hectic. To make up for it, this chapter is completely new content AND it's by far the longest yet. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

{3/26/2002}

Draco stepped out of the fireplace and shook himself off. He brushed his shoulders until he could no longer feel remnants of floo powder on his robes.

"Perfect timing," announced Hermione, accompanied by the sound of a book slamming shut.

"I'm sorry if you've been waiting. I would have been here sooner but I had a few things to wrap up at the office." He said, stepping further into Hermione's flat.

"It's your big night; you're allowed to be as late as you want." Her heels clacked across the floor as she moved towards Draco. She laid her hand lightly on his arm and kissed his cheek.

He snaked his hands around her waist and smirked. "I hardly think a gala honoring the entire Auror department qualifies as my big night."

"A gala that never would have been possible without your help," replied Hermione, smacking him on the arm. "You've been instrumental in finding and capturing the ministry's most elusive suspects. I never knew Draco Malfoy to be so modest."

"Yes well there's a first time for everything I suppose. Please feel free to go on boasting about my many accomplishments though. Apparently I'm allowed to be as late as I like."

Hermione brought his hand to her face, giving him the chance to feel the wry smirk that had crept onto it. "There you are. I was beginning to fear someone was fooling me with polyjuice potion."

"Never fear, love. You are standing in the presence of the one and only Draco Malfoy. Besides, I refuse to believe you'd fall for any weak imitations."

"And why would I when the real one is so unbelievably charming? I doubt anyone else could even pretend to have such an inflated ego."

"Oh stop, you're going to make me blush," he replied, bringing his lips down to hers. He allowed himself to linger for only a few moments before pulling back. Stroking her hair, he spoke again, "We really ought to leave though. Weaselbee has probably already devoured all the hors d'oeuvres and I'm sure there's at least one person we need to save from Scarhead's awful stories."

His statement was met with another slap to the arm, this one a tad more forceful. "You promised to make more of an effort with Harry and Ron! They're not going anywhere so you might as well get used to them."

"Hermione, we've been together for over a year now. And in that time, can you count one instance when I so much as made a derogatory comment to their faces?"

"... no," she reluctantly admitted.

"And do you realize how many opportunities they've given me? You really underestimate my self-restraint."

She let out a huff of air and he just knew she was rolling her eyes. Truth be told, he was rather pleased with his ability to still get under her skin after all these years.

"Listen, I would just appreciate it if you actually tried to get along with them. The war is long over and I know they don't hold your actions at Hogwarts against you, for the most part anyway. So I really don't see any reason why you can't just make an effort to hold a conversation for longer than two minutes."

"We're never going to be best mates or call each other up for tea and crumpets but I _suppose_ I could try to pretend that the annoying 2/3 of the Golden Trio aren't as obnoxious as they used to be." If he was being completely honest, he would have admitted that he really didn't mind her best friends. They were a bit dull at times but Draco really didn't have any other problems with them. Still, he meant what he said: he would never be close to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Too much had happened. Time didn't always heal every scar.

"Not quite what I was looking for but I'll take it!" She exclaimed, oblivious to his internal musings and clearly pleased at her victory. "Now let's go, before Ronald really does eat all the hors d'oeuvres. Ministry parties always have the best food."

"That's because they have the very best house elves in their kitchens", remarked Draco. He unsuccessfully tried to hold back an impish grin.

"Do you really want to pick two fights in the same night?" she challenged.

"I'd hardly call this fighting, love. Although, I can think of a much better way to let out some aggression." He pulled her close once again and leaned his lips down to her jaw, trailing slowly down to her collarbone. One hand stayed wrapped around her waist and the other caressed her hair, careful to avoid destroying the intricate arrangement it had been pinned into.

She responded with a low, nearly silent, moan. She tilted his chin back up a little, bringing her lips to meet his. She pulled back far enough to break the kiss but close enough for him to still feel the mischievous smile that slowly spread across her face.

She whispered, "Then I'm sure you'll have plenty stored up after spending all evening with Harry and Ron."

"Irritation and aggression are two vastly different emotions. Plus, I'm fairly positive that you just hit on the ultimate buzzkill. I don't think I have it in me to compensate for that level of irritation."

"I'm sure you'll be able to think of something," Hermione responded wryly. "Now quit distracting me and get your arse back into that fireplace!"

* * *

The sounds of another bustling Ministry event flooded Draco's ears the instant he landed in the fireplace. He quickly stepped out, allowing room for Hermione, and systematically dusted off his dress robes. He also applied a mild _Scourgify_, just for good measure.

Hermione appeared beside him with a whoosh and let out a small gasp.

"Oh Draco, it's beautiful. I keep thinking I'll get used to magical decorations but..." she paused.

He reached out for her hand and she grabbed it without hesitation. "Don't tell anyone," he said, "But they never failed to amaze me either. I used to sneak downstairs when my parents hosted parties at the Manor just to watch the indoor fireworks and sparks falling from the ceiling.

"Keep that to yourself though." He cleared his throat and straightened his robes again. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"Yes, yes, you're a pureblood whose family hasn't been amazed by magic for centuries and you're not fascinated like some clueless muggle. I know the drill."

"Good. I couldn't have you thinking you've actually rubbed off on me." He removed his cane from inside an inside pocket of his robes and returned it to its normal size. He then offered Hermione his elbow, which she hooked her arm through. "Let's get this over with."

"Oh, please. I know you enjoy these Ministry parties far more than you let on," Hermione said as they moved towards the ballroom, her heels clicking nearly in time with the tapping of Draco's cane.

Surprisingly, he did. It was a bit of a revelation, and an odd one at that. It wasn't so long ago that he would have hated the entire idea of tonight. The crowd of people, the high-profile setting, the focus directed at him. He wouldn't have even entertained the idea.

Hermione knew that better than anyone. She had spent weeks trying to drag him out of the Manor after he left St. Mungo's. He remembered one afternoon in particular. Hermione had made a habit of coming over after work and staying late into the night.

_{5/4/2001}_

"_I need to stop by Diagon Alley to run a couple errands this afternoon. Do you want to come? I was thinking we could grab a sundae from Fortescue's after. I haven't had one in years. Doesn't that sound great?" asked Hermione after she greeted him with a kiss._

"_No, I'm fine. Mother was there last week so it's not like I need anything." He picked up the Daily Prophet from the desk he was sitting at and ran his fingers over the page. Hermione's discovery on translating texts into Braille had been a lifesaver and the only way that he was truly able to keep up on current events in the wizarding world. The gossip that his mother brought home from her weekly luncheons certainly did not qualify in that regard._

"_Well how about you just come with me instead? It really shouldn't take that long and I think it would be fun. We'll pop into a couple of shops and then sit down and relax. Come on, I know the mint and chip there is your favorite." She dragged out the last sentence, teasing him with the prospect of sweets. _

"_No offense, love, but have you ever known me to enjoy shopping? Just bring back a couple cones and we'll pop in one of those… movies? That's what they're called, right?" _

"_Yes, Draco, that's what they're called but I'm asking you to come with me. Please? You're the one who kept talking about how you couldn't wait to get out of St. Mungo's and go on a real date. Well here's a perfect opportunity!" She was really pushing this whole shopping excursion and he couldn't figure out why. He did feel a little guilty, though, when she brought up the proper date that they'd yet to have._

"_I know and I still want that. We can go have a picnic in the ruins at Rome or something. I'm really not trying to be rude but I just don't feel like going out today, alright?" The words came out a bit harsher than he'd intended. He was irritated but he hadn't meant to take it out on her._

_Hermione sighed and stayed quiet for a few moments. "Draco," she started, trepidation evident in her tone. "It's been three weeks since you moved back to The Manor and you haven't left once. You can't live your life inside these walls."_

"_Look, I just… I'm not… I might not have much of reputation left after the war but I do still have one. I'm not about to wander out and give people the satisfaction of seeing me try to navigate a street as crowded as Diagon Alley. I know the whole story about the accident was published in the Daily Prophet but I just thought…" He trailed off, hand dangling in mid-air as he tried to find the words to express what he was feeling. He'd begun to pace at some point and he was a tad disoriented now. He reached his hand out and found that he had ended up back in front of the desk._

"_You thought that if people didn't see you, they'd forget," she said._

_Draco simply nodded, burying his head in his hands and collapsing back into the chair he'd been sitting in before Hermione's arrival. Hermione walked over and laid her hands on his, removing them from his face._

"_Listen to me. You cannot stay cooped up in The Manor for the rest of your life. I won't let you. I know that it might be hard on you but you have to face it at some point. You've worked so hard these past few months and that's what's going to show. "_

"_You don't get it!" he shouted and stood, unable to control the turn his temper had taken. "Nobody is going to treat me the same! Nobody is going to think of me the same. I've already experienced it: from my own mother, from Blaise, from Scarhead and the Weasel, and even from you! Do you really think they're going to remember all the improvements I made to the Auror program or the number of Death Eaters that I helped bring to justice? No. They're going to fixate on my sunglasses and my cane and the fact that I'm not looking directly into their bloody faces. __**Everyone**__ will treat me differently." He remained standing, his chest heaving up and down with effort. _

"_You're right," answered Hermione quietly. He twisted his head to look at her, a look of incredulity crossing his features. "People will treat you differently. And I won't pretend to know exactly what you're going through, because I don't. But, Draco, this is something you're going to have to accept. As you have pointed out on countless occasions, those in the magical world are not used to dealing with blind wizards. They're going to be curious and that's not really something you can blame them for."_

"_Curiosity is one thing. I get it. But I'm not going to parade myself around so people can gossip and stare at me as if I'm some sort of freak! Or gloat because they think this is perfect payback for being a Death Eater."_

_Hermione took a couple deep breaths before responding. She laced his fingers through hers and rested her forehead against his. "First of all, you are __**not**__ a freak. And if anyone is honestly holding a grudge after all the time you've spent on the Auror department, that's their problem; not yours. If you're not ready to face Diagon Alley today then that's okay, I get it, but you can't stay in this state of mind. This isn't your fault and quite frankly, there isn't anything you can do about it. You have no reason to hide yourself away from the entire wizarding population."_

"_I just… I don't think I can do it," Draco quietly admitted. "The inane questions, the timid voices, the insinuations that I'm no longer 'worthy.' I am a Malfoy, for Merlin's sake. People used to stare at me with respect, appreciation, fear, even. I don't need my sight to know that people will either be gawking or watching me with pity. I don't want their pity! I can bloody well take of myself. I've proven that, haven't I? I'm not some pathetic child that they need to feel concern for."_

"_You've proven that and so much more over the past few months. Most of the wizards we know, particularly the purebloods, would never have worked like you did to get your independence back. Give them time. Everyone will realize that, eventually, but you have to give them the opportunity to see it. If they spent as much as five minutes with you, I doubt anyone would deign to say that you're inadequate. It just might take awhile for everyone to get caught up." Her response was firm, leaving no room for debate._

"_Then in the meantime, what's wrong with spending some time out of the public eye?" he asked._

"_I'm not telling you to do anything or go anywhere that you don't want to go. But if you're avoiding public places just because you're afraid of people treating you differently, well then damn it you're just going to have to get over it. They're going to stare and they're going to talk; you just have to give them a reason to say something positive."_

That afternoon had been the push he needed. He hadn't integrated back into society quite as easily as Hermione had anticipated, but he had done it nonetheless. And whenever he had a bad day, which happened more often than he'd like, Hermione was there just as she was now. He knew that she would much rather have spent the evening camped out with a cup of tea and her latest novel but instead she'd acted as if there was nowhere else she'd rather be.

"Help me see it," he asked, falling back on a tradition they'd started long ago.

"Well they've picked out a champagne color scheme. Oh, sorry, erm that's a muggle alcoholic drink. Picture an off-white cream color, only slightly more golden. The tablecloths and place settings are all slightly different shades, just enough to make them distinct, and everyone is carrying glasses with the same color swirling across the surface.

"The ceiling is enchanted to look like the night sky, not quite as magnificent as the great hall at Hogwarts but beautiful none the less. The sky is clear with millions of stars: some larger than others, some sparkling, and some shooting across the length of the ceiling, showering down an array of sparks.

"The bar is directly to our left and the stage is on the far side of the room. It looks like our table is fairly close to it, actually. Would you like to go there first?"

"Actually, I have a question I need to ask Finnegan. I forgot in my rush to leave the office this afternoon. Would you point me in his direction?"

"Seamus? I hadn't realized he was working in the Auror department. I'll come with you. I'd like to say hi; I haven't seen him in over a year."

"How coincidental, neither have I," he smirked, slightly proud at his joke. Hermione responded by smacking his chest and he pictured her scrunching her lips together in mock disdain. Merlin, he was lucky he didn't inherit his mother's tendency towards easy bruising.

* * *

Draco walked over and sat down on the couch that Hermione had flopped, rather unceremoniously, onto a few seconds earlier. Pulling both of their shoes off, he placed them beside the couch, where he'd be sure to find them in the morning. He chuckled as Hermione shifted and groaned beside him.

"I'm so tired."

"I think you're a bit more than tired, love. You and Ginny were having quite a competition with that Firewhiskey. The bottle was nearly empty when I picked it up."

"It's not my fault!" she exclaimed. "Ginny said- she said I was more of a hermit now than I was at Hogwarts and she just kept sliding that bottle closer and closer."

Draco bit back a laugh and tried to nod sympathetically. "Yes well you definitely proved her wrong."

"I never want another glass of it again. I don't- I don't even like that stuff!"

"I know, that's what you said every time before you took another shot," he smirked.

"Ughhh. Gods I must have made a fool of myself. I need to go home, sleep it off." She moved to get off the couch and Draco reached out, instinctively catching her arm just before she stood up.

"Oh no you don't. You're slurring too much to use the floo and I'm certainly not letting you apparate in this condition. Stay here tonight."

"Okay, good night." She lay her head down on the opposite end of the couch and curled her feet up into Draco's lap.

He let out a small laugh and said, "If you sleep here, you'll feel ten times worse in the morning. Come on let's get you to bed. You can wear those, um, sweater pants? I think that's what they're called, those pajamas you got me for Christmas."

"SWEAT pants," she giggled. He helped her to her feet and escorted her down the hall to his bedroom. She plopped down onto the bed as he moved to his dresser. He opened the third drawer down, reached towards the second pile from the left, and grabbed the first item. He then opened the second drawer and ran his fingers over the shirts inside. He picked up the most comfortable one and brought both items over to Hermione.

"I'll go put on my pajamas in the bathroom and you can change out here, ok? Just let me know when you're done." He grabbed the pajamas that his house elf, Marnie, had left on the corner of his dresser and walked five steps forward, three steps to the left, and turned right to enter the bathroom connected to his bedroom.

He changed and brushed his teeth, giving Hermione a little extra time. He knew that there was technically no reason to leave her alone while she undressed. It's not like he could sneak a glance at her anyway. But he wanted to respect her privacy.

Malfoys were always raised to be gentleman, no matter how nefarious their career aspirations turned out to be. Draco supposed that at some point between his mother's constant reminders and lecturing, the idea, no matter how old fashioned, must have stuck.

He knocked on the door and called out, asking if she was finished. Getting no response, he opened the door and walked back around the front of his bed. The slight snoring coming from the left side of the bed told him that she was already fast asleep and the dress lying on the floor and lack of pajamas on the bed indicated that she'd managed to change before she passed out. Apparently she hadn't made it under the covers though.

He gently pulled the blankets out from beneath her and pulled them up to cover her. He then walked back to the other side of the bed and crawled in, removing his sunglasses and placing them on the nightstand. His movements must have woken Hermione, because she rolled over to face him and laid her hand across his cheek.

"I love your eyes," she murmured sleepily. "I love getting to see them. That piercing gray always stood out, even at Hogwarts. I wish you wouldn't hide them."

Before Draco could respond, the snoring returned. He smiled to himself and used his wand to turn out the lights. He lay down against his pillow, recalling the first time he heard her talk about his eyes

_{8/1/2000} _

_Draco leaned back against the headrest. He removed his sunglasses and placed them on his bedside table. Sighing, he massaged his temples. He'd been wearing those blasted things for nearly twelve hours today. Most of the time he completely forgot he had them on, but they'd been rather bothersome today for some unknown reason._

_Not that it really mattered. Hermione had left for the evening and Mr. Belter wouldn't arrive until 9 the next morning. Nurses would come and go in-between but there wasn't truly much point in trying to hide his sightless eyes from them. The doctors and nurses had run test after test on his eyes after he was first admitted to St. Mungos, not to mention it was usually a nurse who woke him up in the morning. His eyes instinctively opened whenever he awoke, even if the act was rather pointless now._

_The door creaked open, the sound grating on Draco's ears. He was in a magical hospital for Merlin's sake and nobody could figure out how to fix a door hinge? He'd have to ask someone to place a _silencio_ on it tomorrow. _

"_Isn't it a little early for my thrilling evening potion routine?" he drawled, turning his head towards the door._

"_It's… It's just me," said a familiar voice. "I got home and realized I left my journal."_

_Draco's eyes immediately clenched shut and his arm flew to the nightstand. His fingers brushed past the glasses and a split second later, he heard them crash to the floor. "Damn it!" he hissed under his breath. _

_She wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be left alone for the rest of the night. He never would have taken off the sunglasses if he'd known she was coming back. _

_He felt vulnerable, exposed. _

_It wasn't fair. This was exactly what he'd wanted to avoid. She wasn't supposed to see his blank eyes, unable to focus on her. He must have looked so stupid._

"_It's okay," Hermione said, this time much quieter. "I know you think you have to wear those but I like how you look without them. You look like the Draco Malfoy I've known for the past nine years."_

_He heard metal briefly scrape the tile and wondered if she was wearing jewelry. He frowned. She'd never really worn jewelry to Hogwarts or at work, at least that he'd noticed. The idea of a bracelet or a few rings bothered him; it didn't fit with the image he had of her. It was what he'd assumed she had continued to look like. He didn't like that she could be transforming right in front of him without him ever knowing. It wasn't right that she got to change while the Hermione in his head would always stay the same._

"_Yeah well he's not really around anymore, is he?" he replied bitterly. Wasn't he allowed to keep even one ounce of his dignity?_

"_Oh I don't know about that. I remember him being a rather large git so I think you two might have more in common than you think." He could practically hear her smirking. In response, he shook his head in exasperation. "I'll see you tomorrow."_

_Draco found that he was unable contain the small grin that crept onto his face._

He wondered if she even remembered that day, if she had any idea how deeply it had affected him. It was one of the first moments since he'd lost his sight that he felt adequate. Enough.

It had been so confusing at the time.

There he was, Draco Malfoy, lower than he ever imagined he would be. The war had already stripped him of his respected reputation and his lack of contributions to Voldemort's side in the final days of the war had cost him most of his friends, if they could really be called that. In retrospect, he realized that actual friends might have at least made the effort to stick around.

Then, the accident happened. He remembered thinking just how cruel the whole ordeal was. Hadn't he already suffered enough tragic turns of fate for one lifetime?

And there she was, Hermione Granger, with the wizarding world practically falling at her feet. She'd received more honors than he could keep track of and everyone loved her. She had emerged from the war stronger than ever, her best friends still in tow and her family happy and healthy.

She could have done anything, gone anywhere, and yet she chose to spend her afternoons in a dreary hospital room with someone who had tormented her for her entire childhood.

Hermione was supposed to be the rational one but he couldn't see any sense in the arrangement.

It had angered him at first, actually. Of course St. Granger would come to take pity on the poor pathetic patient.

He had expected so much from her. But he hadn't expected her unsolicited kindness. He wasn't used to it. He'd had so few interactions with people who didn't want something from him in return.

Hermione stirred again, pulling him from his musings. She flipped onto her side, facing away from him, and he pulled her close. He ran his left hand up and down the length of her thigh before securing his arm around her stomach. Kissing the top of her head, he settled into his pillow and smiled as Hermione sighed in contentment.

He spent the hazy moments between consciousness and sleep picturing the way her hair would fall across his pillows and the way she would look in his favorite t-shirt.

* * *

Draco awoke the next morning to warm sunshine on his face. He savored the sensation before the realization set in that the room must be flooded with light. She'd probably wake up squinting at any moment. He hadn't thought to close the blinds before falling asleep last night. He went to grab his wand before remembering that he left it in the living room last night when he helped Hermione to his bedroom.

It was a really stupid move but he couldn't bring himself to care at the moment. Not when Hermione's head was lying on his chest and her arm was draped across him. Clearly the sunlight wasn't bothering her as he'd feared.

He lifted his hand up and drew lazy circles on her back, trying to soak everything in. He wanted to always remember her warm body pressed against his and the way he could feel her breath through his shirt. He wanted to remember the way her hair smelled like coconut, probably due to some new product she'd used for the gala.

Even the silence, which was usually overwhelming when he was alone, seemed a fitting soundtrack to the morning. He wanted to wake up like this every day.

He chuckled slightly as he wondered when exactly he had turned into a total sap. He'd have to go duel with Blaise or something later.

His movements apparently nudged Hermione awake because she stretched and picked her head off of Draco's chest. She groaned and immediately lay back down.

"My head is absolutely throbbing," she said, her voice scratchy and groggy.

"Well you did drink about half a bottle of Firewhiskey last night. That would be enough to leave anyone with a nasty hangover."

"Ugh. Please don't say the word Firewhiskey. I don't even-"

"Like that stuff," he interrupted. "Believe me, I know."

"Merlin, do I even want to know how I was acting last night?"

"All things considered, it wasn't really that bad. Although, you kept mimicking poor Finnegan's tendency towards unintentional pyrotechnics."

"The first time I see the guy in years and I spend the night insulting him. I was right, I don't want to know. Can we just stay in bed for a little while longer?" She re-adjusted and shifted her body a little closer to Draco's.

"It's Saturday, love. We can stay in bed for as long as you like," he said, resuming the circles he had been drawing on Hermione's back.

"Good. Because I'm trying to make a memory," she said, smiling against his chest.

"Oh?"

"Yes. Despite the drum solo echoing through my head, this is one of the nicest mornings I've ever had. I want to remember it."

"Help me see it," he asked.

"Well, to start with, you've got this really great bed-head thing going on."

His hand flew to his hair and Hermione burst out in laughter.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding. It's a little ruffled but I like it. Very devil-may-care. But hair aside, the sunlight is filtering in through your windows. If I lift my head to look out of it, I can see the street and the park below. They're covered in a thin layer of snow. Not so much that everything is wiped out by a blanket of white, but just enough that there is a bit of sparkle to the whole scene.

"Your room is very organized, with the exception of my dress sprawled across the floor. Sorry about that, by the way. Your sunglasses are, thankfully, sitting on your nightstand, giving me the chance to stare into your eyes as much as I like.

"Judging by the feel of it, my own hair is much worse than yours. It seems to have expanded during the night and I'm sure that all the hairspray and taming charms that I applied last night have completely worn off. I wore make-up instead of a glamour charm last night so my mascara is more than likely smudged in a thick line under my eyes.

"Wow, I'm scaring myself a bit. I think that's probably all you need to see of me this morning."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. I think you have an unfairly biased opinion. I wish I could see to tell you just how wrong you are." She began to protest but he continued before she could. "Thank you for showing me though. Do you remember the first time I asked you to do that?"

"Of course I do. It was the day you left St. Mungo's. The first place you wanted to go was Greece. We went straight there and the side-along apparatition made you disoriented and sick to your stomach. So instead of going to your favorite childhood restaurant, I found the closest dock."

"And we took off our shoes and put our feet in the ocean and I asked you to help me see the sunset. You used so many details that I felt like I really was looking at the pink rays falling on the white houses facing the ocean. I don't think you knew how important that was to me," he told her.

"Well, I wanted you to experience it the same way that I did. Just because you can't see those images with your eyes, doesn't mean you can't see them through mine."

She rose off of his chest and kissed him before crawling over him and hopping off the bed. She grabbed his hand and pulled him up with her.

"Where are we going?"

"To the kitchen. You're going to make me breakfast," she announced.

"Oh really? And why is that?"

"Because I'm the one with the debilitating hangover and you're supposed to be playing the role of the doting boyfriend."

* * *

**A/N:** Your opinion would be much appreciated! Let me know what you think!


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